The Wicked's Lives Are Lonely
by lalalei
Summary: 16 oneshot drabble fics I wrote one day. I rather like them... Sort of a companion to my 100 drabbles. But not really...just read :P
1. Seeds of Wickedness

_These are just random oneshots I wrote that really don't fit with my 100 Drabbles. So I gave them their own fic :) This 1st one is musicalverse._

**Seeds of Wickedness**

"Father's dead," Nessarose snaps, her voice as hard as her beauty.

"What?"

"He's _dead_! I'm the governor now."

Nessa does not flinch; she does not waver or cry. She merely sits there in stony silence, her hands neatly folded in her lap.

Sitting there with frightening complacency in her wheelchair, the Wicked Witch of the East looms over her kneeling sister.

She would laugh; but she cannot find the voice to.

Elphaba gazes into her sister's cold, calculating eyes, searching for compassion...and remembers another time when she was like this...

...cold...intelligent...wicked...

It was the night of the Ozdust Ball...at Shiz.

Nessarose is with Boq, engaging in conversation; he is gazing at Galinda longingly. He is not looking at her; she grows angry...

"Boq...are you listening," she asks.

"Hm? Oh, yes, Miss Nessarose," he says distractedly. She is not fooled.

"Boq, you _weren't _listening to me! You lied to me, Boq," she cries, breaking down into fake tears.

Galinda throws them a worried glance, one that says 'fix her!'.

Boq is immediately at Nessa's side, patting her shoulder, putting an arm around her.

"Nessa...I'm sorry...I didn't mean to hurt you."

She gazes at him with a visage of frost.

"You're forgiven, Boq. Do not ignore me again..."

She suddenly switches her tone; she is now pleading, begging him not to leave...Nessarose always was a manipulator--she finds it easy, with her condition.

"Oh, Boq--you don't know what you mean to me! I couldn't survive without you! I need you here with me forever..."

He smiles uneasily, rubbing her shoulder blades.

"I'll stay with you, Nessa."

She moves in for the kill.

"For how long? A day? A week?"

"I'll stay as long as it takes for you to walk, Nessarose."

"Good..."

Nessa never expected that she would be cured...and she had forgotten his promise by then...

For Boq, for all his faults, can be as clever as she is.


	2. Secrets

_This one's musicalverse too :)_

**Secrets**

"And of course...like every family...they had their...secrets," Glinda said carefully; she knew there were younger Ozians in the crowd that needed to retain their innocence.

"What kind of secrets," asked a young girl who didn't look a day over eight.

"Well...you see...the Witch's mother...didn't love her husband the way she should have...and she found a different man...and they did a rather silly thing together..."

But of course, Glinda could only guess at such things, for she was not alive when it happened. The only people who knew were Melena--and she was _dead_, so she couldn't tell-- and...the Wizard.

----------

The Wizard reflected on his life as he sailed out of Oz; how he came to Oz in the first place, how he became their ruler...

But what he remembered most was his visit with the Witch's mother...Melena. She had invited him in to get out of the cold...to relax...

It had been a cold, rainy night when he arrived; he was at once charmed by her. She had a kind of ethereal, faint beauty--the kind often found in fairy tales and dreams.

And she was equally charmed by him; his sly, foreign accent, his quick wit...that funny, little green bottle he showed her...All thoughts of Frex were forgotten.

Melena smiled as he came in; there were tinges of red around her eyes and cheeks. Perhaps she had been drinking, or perhaps she was merely longing for something or someone...he couldn't remember.

What the Wizard did remember was he immediately pulled out the bottle and sipped from it, to enhance the feelings building within him.

"What's in the bottle," she asked curiously, walking up to him.

He gave her a wry smile and pulled her in closer, tilting the glass towards her mouth.

"Miracle Green Elixir," he stated, "it's my own creation."

"And what does it taste like? What does it do?"

"It tastes of your dreams...and then you get your dreams," he whispered, pouring some of it into her mouth.

Melena's eyes grew wide; after what seemed an eternity she swallowed.

"More," she breathed, going limp, falling against his free arm.

She was almost his.

"Have another drink, my dark-eyed beauty," he half-sang, like some twisted lullaby.

He whirled her around; her nightgown became a tortured ballgown; she became a dark princess; he her _charming_ prince.

"I've got one more night left in town," he continued; her eyes began to water.

"Must you go so soon," she asked; he wiped at her tears gently.

"Just relax...have another drink of Green Elixir..."

She grabbed the bottle and drank more, leaving almost half of the mixture left. He led her over to the bed, her ballgown dragging behind her.

"And we'll have ourselves a little mixer..."

He walked behind her, slowly undoing the clasps that held it together.

"Have another little swallow, little lady," he breathed, laying her down, putting the bottle up to her lips.

Melena hesitated for just a second, then drank the rest; by the time he finished taking off his clothes it was empty.

"Now what," his princess mumbled.

_"Follow me down..."_


	3. Smiling Between Tears

_Yet another musicalverse :)_

**Smiling Between Tears**

She's dead. The Wicked Witch of the West is dead.

Her _best friend _is dead...

Glinda will not believe it. In all the years she had known Elphaba, she had never imagined that her death would come so soon. Not even after she was declared Wicked.

Glinda always thought of her friend as invincible...

"Oh, Elphie," she moans, clutching her friend's soaked hat to her chest. Tears trickle down her face, staining it more than the water did.

"I hope you and Fiyero are happy together," she breathes.

She speaks to the piece of fabric as if it was Elphaba herself.

"…Elphaba…remember when we first met?" she asks the hat.

It does not respond.

"Well, I do," she replies.

"When we first met… it was at Shiz, remember? I was a snob back then and hung out with Pfannee and Shenshen...and we absolutely loathed each other."

_"Dearest darlingest Momsie and Popsical..." _

_"My dear father..." _

_"There's been some confusion over rooming here at Shiz..." _

_Galinda notices something odd about her roommate. She is green, sure, but there is an air of...longing, is it? And otherness. _

_An aura of longing and otherness clings to Elphaba, and for an instant she feels sorry for her. _

_"But she is not your friend," remarks Pfannee, "and only friends deserve sympathy." _

_"You're right, Pfannee," Galinda says, and turns away._

Glinda clutches the hat even tighter, as if realizing it will not speak to her, that Elphaba will not speak to her. She shakes her head in denial.

"And...remember when I gave you the hat, Elphaba? It was my grandmother's but I didn't want it, so I gave it to you..."

_"It's really...uh, sharp, don't you think? You know, black is this year's pink!" _

_Elphaba raises an eyebrow, thinks...and takes the hat. Galinda glances back at her with wonderment. _

_It is the first time she's seen Elphaba happy._

Her heart begins to stir; Glinda feels a tingling sensation come over her. She finds she is rooted to the spot.

"And...the Ozdust Ball...I was with Fiyero, and you came in and were all alone...and we danced together..."

_Galinda turns to the green girl shyly, guiltily. Elphaba braces herself for whatever may come; she expects a harsh cackle of how dumb she was to fall for the trick. Instead, she finds a shaking hand extended to her. _

_"Excuse me...may I cut in?" _

_She takes it._

She can still remember the piano's soft, timid notes, joined by other instruments, elevating into a heavenly crescendo of friendship.

"And...remember when I tried to make you popular, Elphie? That didn't work out so well, but in the end you _did _look prettier than before..."

_"Now, the only real way to be popular...is to wear a pair of THESE!" Grinning, Galinda holds up a pair of frilly pink underwear; it is all Elphaba can do not to gag. _

_"...No? Then how about this! I wrote a book, Elphie: 'How to Be Popular'!" _

_Elphaba listens, for her friend's sake. When Galinda is done, she takes a pink flower and places it delicately in her friend's hair. _

_"Hmm...no, still not enough!" _

_She takes another flower and pins it in. _

_"No...not quite there yet!" _

_In the end Elphaba is left with a headband of pink flowers in her pitch-black hair. _

_"Miss Elphaba...look at you...you're beautiful!"_

Glinda makes no effort to restrain her sobs; the memories come in torrents now.

"And the Emerald City and meeting the Wizard and you flying off and you running off with Fiyero leaving me behind and Dorothy's house killing Nessarose and our fight and you loving Fiyero and the guards taking him away and you capturing Dorothy for your sister's shoes..."

"And…you... and everything...and...the memories we--"

Glinda relaxes her grip on the hat slightly; her blue eyes are steely and determined.

_Remember,_ she thinks. _Remember like you never have in your life._

Glinda remembers all she has talked about. All the stories she has been pouring out to empty air.

She takes all of her memories of Elphaba and locks them away in a special place in her heart, one that can never break or be destroyed.

Her friend will be with her forever, if not in body, then in her mind and spirit.

And for just an instant, Glinda smiles.


	4. She'll Never Admit It

_This one's sort of to make up for my writing ignoring Liir. :) Bookverse._

**She'll Never Admit It**

Even when she first met him, when he first laid innocent eyes on hers, she had already begun the process of detachment. Sure, Liir was only a baby at the time. But the Witch felt he would bring nothing but trouble.

Trouble, and memories.

The boy grew, bringing with him a knack for clumsiness. Always knocking things down, crushing insects, falling into wells...

She saved him out of necessity, she tells herself. Without Liir to talk to, to vent to, to torture with tasks she knows he cannot complete satisfactorily, she would have gone insane much earlier.

But, she muses, the stupid boy does have at least one good quality. He has a small talent for warnings.

It was he who told her about the ancient Carp; it was he who learned of Dorothy's coming.

It was he who shattered her hopes of Fiyero returning, unknowingly priming the detachment necessary for murder.

But it all went wrong, all of it...and now the Witch lays gasping on the floor, her flesh sticking to her cloak. As she lifts the cloak, her skin comes with it.

She cackles softly, telling herself that Liir did not help her; he had never helped her. All he had told she would have found out for herself.

_He really is a useless twig of a boy after all,_ she thinks, laughing at the imagined look on Liir's face when he finds her body. She remembers the first time she ever hurt him, and she smiles at the memory.

For the Witch will never, ever admit that she cares for him.


	5. Spreading Rumors

_This one's bookverse too. Contains many references to the original L Frank Baum stuff ;)_

**Spreading Rumors**

"Say, have you heard about the Witch," the hooded woman whispers to the bartender.

She is coolly sipping a drink, seemingly unaware that his once red face (though it was probably from the alcohol) turns ashen and pale.

"Which Witch," the man asks, glancing around nervously.

"The Wicked Witch of the West. The one the Gale Force needs information about," she replies smoothly, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder reassuringly. He is somewhat relieved by her gesture.

"...What about her?"

"I hear she's out tonight, nurturing her pack of wolves...but I don't think they have grown up yet. From what I've heard they are still pups..."

"...She has...wolves? Where did you hear this," he squeaks.

The hooded woman smiles, or at least he thinks she does--the hood covers her entire face.

"One of her slaves escaped, the poor thing..."

She straightens, her tone low and cold.

"He came to my house crying, in terrible pain...that old witch beat him with a strap something terrible...there were bruises all over! It was awful!"

The bartender winces sympathetically.

"...And the slave told you about her?"

"Oh, yes! He said the reason he has to wash her dishes for her is because she can't touch water! If she gets any water on her, it'll melt her and she'll die... "

She pauses for breath, then continues.

"He tried to melt her once by splashing her, but she carries this umbrella around with her, and she opened it, and the water ran off the umbrella and missed her..."

The woman sighs, shrugging her shoulders. She pauses to take another sip of her drink.

"And then she beat him..."

She raises a gloved finger as if to say _'But there's more!'_

"But then he escaped! You see, she's an old woman, and only one of her eyes works, so it was relatively easy for him to escape...and the guards wouldn't stop one of their own from escaping..."

The bartender nods, comprehending what the hooded woman is saying, trying to form a picture of the witch in his mind.

"She's an old woman, you said? How old?"

"Oh, she's _ancient_," the woman laughs, "but her one good eye can see for miles!"

"...Can it see _here_," he squeaks, glancing at the door as if he expects it to burst open any moment.

"...No, he said it can't see inside buildings. He also said that if they wanted to, her slaves could all rise up and kill her easily...but they fear her powers..."

"Did he say what sort of powers," the bartender asks, now thoroughly engrossed in the tale.

"Oh...she's hardly a Witch when it comes to magic, barely even a magician! As far as he knows, the only thing she can do is make things invisible."

"...But she has some control over animals, right," he asks, remembering the talk of wolf pups.

"Oh, just wolf pups...they're harmless, really! And I've heard she has crows, but they are just birds after all, and a swarm of bees...but the bees only come out during the daytime."

"...From what the slave told you, and what you're telling me, she doesn't sound that dangerous--Wait! I remember, when she first appeared, that Morrible said something about her having winged monkeys..."

The hooded woman glances around, then leans close to his ear.

"The slave told me that she does have winged monkeys...but she controls them with a Golden Cap. And the cap can only be used 3 times, and she's already used it twice..."

"...So she can only use it one more time."

"Right. So if something makes her use its power again, she's practically powerless!"

The bartender smiles to himself, laughing at the thought of the most feared enemy in Oz being nothing more than a one-eyed old bat with hardly any power.

"I have to take care of the slave, the poor dear...so I can't tell the Gale Force about her...Do you suppose you could?"

The bartender shakes the woman's gloved hand roughly.

"I have a bar to take care of, but I'll be sure to tell anyone that comes in about the Witch! Thank you for the information, miss...I didn't get your name..."

The woman laughs. It is a strange laugh, almost--dare I say it--a cackle.

"Fae."

Then she slips out the door and vanishes in the shadows.

------------

The Witch Hunters surround the castle, whooping gleefully. Four men wield a battering ram, and they are slamming it against the door with all their might. The door shudders.

"This is going to be easy," a Gale Forcer proclaims, holding up the body of a crow. The man beside him holds up the head of a wolf pup.

She had sent at least twenty crows to peck the group's eyes out, but as the bartender said, they were just birds, and they fell easily to their axes and torches.

And apparently she wasn't above sending wolf pups to tear them to pieces. They killed every one that she sent, taking no chances.

"The Witch used the monkeys to capture Dorothy, and that's the last time she can use them, so no worries about the monkeys! And the crows are all dead, and so are the wolves, and the bees are asleep!"

The door is broken open; the Witch Hunters rush in--

And they are met with a young, green-skinned woman, surrounded by a crowd of winged monkeys. To the right of the monkeys is a pack of snarling wolves; to the left are about twenty crows. Above them hovers a swarm of bees.

"What, you didn't honestly think I'd send _all _my familiars to kill you, did you?"

The young woman cackles; she waves her hands and the door slams shut.

She holds a broom in her hand; the woman then points at their weapons, which go flying up towards the ceiling.

She grabs a bucket of water that is on its way up, and, smirking, she dips her hand into the metal container. It comes out faintly red and sore, and it stings, but her hand does not drip off of her wrist.

The woman lets out a long, harsh cackle; her eyes--she has two!-- bore into the mob.

She raises her broom up towards a torch; the straw quickly ignites.

The young woman points her broom at the mob, circles them; her familiars back them into a wall. They have nowhere to run.

Her hazel eyes look red behind the flames.

"You can't always believe what you hear," she hisses.


	6. Her Greatest Fear

_This one's musicalverse._

**Her Greatest Fear**

"No, what are you doing? Let me _go_," Elphaba cries, struggling against the vice-like hands that hold her.

"Silence, witch," the Gale Forcer cries, then turns to another guard.

"At least the other witch is dead...the Witch of the East, was it?"

The second man turns to Elphaba, sneering.

"I bet you're as bad as she was!"

Elphaba gasps in shock; her voice is low and cold.

"No. I'm _nothing _like my late sister!"

-----

Ever since she was old enough to understand the ways of the world, Elphaba's greatest fear was becoming like her sister.

Oh, she loved Nessarose, there was no doubt about that. But her sister was a manipulator, a tyrant in her later years...a _witch_.

Elphaba supposed it had all started with their father, Frex. Nessarose was his favorite, after all, and he gave her everything she wanted.

And on the rare occasion that he denied Nessa a gift, she would take out her anger on Elphaba, berating her, once even hitting her.

She remembered Nessa coolly entangling Boq in her web at Shiz, breaking down in fake tears if he so much as glanced at Galinda.

When Frex died, and she became Governess, something in Nessarose's mind snapped. There was no one to cater to her every whim, no one to cry to for help.

She'd have to manage without her father, and Elphaba as well...but she was crafty.

Soon the Munchkins couldn't leave their own country; this served two purposes. One, they couldn't rebel against her by getting help. And two, they couldn't tell anyone what was happening to them.

And she had Boq as her personal slave...life for Nessarose soon became better than ever.

For she loved Boq, and he loved her...or so she thought.

Elphaba could still remember Boq's tortured scream, an animal's cry of pain that cut to her heart. And as _his _heart contracted, it shrank. Expand, contract, shrink. Expand, contract, shrink. Soon there would be nothing left of the man who longed for Glinda...

And alone, loveless, with her reflection for company, Nessarose blamed Elphaba for everything. Nessa wound up becoming more of a tyrant than ever. The people _celebrated _when she died...

-----

Elphaba, struggling in the Gale Force's grip, remembers all those things. Her sister's life has passed before her eyes, as if the end had come too soon for Nessa to recall her past...

She starts as she hears something. A man shouts; she recognizes the voice.

"Fiyero?"

Everything seems to speed up. Fiyero holds a gun on Glinda. The guards release Elphaba; Fiyero tosses her the broom. Elphaba flies overhead, far away from the Gale Force's sight.

She cannot leave Fiyero...not now...not when the Gale Force is right next to--

Elphaba gasps, almost falling off her broom. The Gale Force has seized Fiyero.

She is relieved when Glinda protests, standing firm against the men. She knows Glinda cannot save him. But her intervention will give her more time to get to the castle...

------

"Eleka nahmen ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen! Let his flesh not be torn, let his blood leave no stain..."

Elphaba is desperate, trying the first spell she saw. She doesn't know what it means, and can only hope...

"Though they beat him, let him feel no pain!"

She can see the guards in her crystal ball--their silhouettes, anyway. The sun is setting.

Fiyero is hidden in the guards' midst; she cannot see him. But she can see the weapons--clubs, guns, knives. A man raises a club and brings it down, and she thinks she hears a crack.

"Let his bones never break and however they try to destroy him...let him never die! _Let him never die!_"

The guards suddenly disperse and leave; Elphaba can see Fiyero's silhouette.

It is motionless.

Elphaba snaps, crying and trembling all at once. A thought comes to her mind.

_If this is what I gain by doing good...I'd rather be wicked. I shall never do good again!_

She channels her loss, her tears, into the need to control that now fills her.

Elphaba wheels around and comes face to face with the head sentry of Kiamo Ko. Fiyero's personal guard, a man's man. She then whips around, not yet ready for him to see her tears.

"Listen to me or die," she breathes, her voice a whisper.

The soldier is shaken; nervously, he stands at attention.

"Yes? What do you want?"

"You and your men may never leave this place. That means no visits to your families, no going out for fresh air, nothing. You will guard my castle day and night, with one break every day...I can't have you all dying on me."

The soldier is stunned; Elphaba laughs to herself.

"But--"

"Silence," Elphaba cries, lashing out at him with her broom, "go and tell the other soldiers of their new duties! And when you are finished, start patrolling!"

"But...if I may ask...why?"

Elphaba turns around then, and the guard sees her tear-streaked face. She sobs for effect, and fakes a choked, sorrowful breath. The guard's strong face softens.

"I can see you don't want to be bothered...I will do as you wish."

The soldier bows and leaves; Elphaba cackles. They will _all _do as she wishes... she will make sure of it.

Elphaba glances at a mirror, grinning a satisfied grin.

She gasps.

Elphaba's smile turns into a terrified grimace; she backs away, realizing what she has done.

"No! _No!_"

Nessarose's face stares back at her.

_"Hello, Elphaba," _Nessarose says sweetly.

_"I see you've been learning..."_


	7. Soulless

_Another bookverse._

**Soulless**

It seemed an easy thing to do, when the Witch thought about it.

She would destroy or capture the girl's companions, taking care not to harm Nessie's treasured shoes, and then command the monkeys to bring the child to her.

And then she'd kill her. It was that simple.

It was in times like these the Witch was glad she didn't have a soul, for if she did, she'd surely be troubled just thinking about it.

For it is a truly soulless act, killing an innocent girl...

But, she mused, thinking about it some more, the child wasn't exactly innocent either. She killed Nessarose in cold blood--or rather, her house did. But it was _her_ house.

And if it _was_ an accident, if she had nothing to do with the falling farmhouse from another land, she took Nessa's shoes.

Sure, Glinda had offered them. And sure, she placed the binding spell on the footwear, for 'protection'.

But the girl had still taken them, placed the silver shoes on her own two feet.

Protection. Hah. They had sealed her fate.

For the binding spell would not wear off unless the wearer died themselves--spells tend to wear off when there is nothing worth protecting.

And what could be more worthless than the dead corpse of a child?

...But when it came to actually doing the deed--to her horror--the Witch found the traces of a soul after all.

------

The Witch cackled as she slammed the tower door shut and locked it, igniting her broom's bristles on a nearby torch.

It would be so easy now. A little spark from her flaming broom, and that was the annoying brat out of the way.

The Lion the Witch could use to work for her, and the shoes would be hers. The little dog would make a lovely meal for the monkeys. Nanny could rot for all she cared, and Liir--

Her musings were cut off by sobs. It seemed the girl was crying; the Witch flinched as a hastily wiped tear caught her cheek.

"What is it," she growled, annoyed at this interruption.

The child continued to cry, pausing only to tug at the shining silver shoes. But they stayed.

"Well," snapped the Witch, waving the flaming broom dangerously close to the girl's face.

"I--I didn't want to come here! I didn't want these shoes! All I want is to go home to my uncle and aunt," the girl choked.

"How touching," the Witch spat, moving ever closer to her, looking into her eyes.

"Then why are you here? Because _he_ sent you to kill me?"

The girl took a deep breath before continuing, the flames reflected in her eyes.

"I didn't come because the Wizard sent me here...I came to talk to you, and to say--"

"To say what," the Witch screeched, wondering why she didn't kill the child before, when she hadn't said a word.

The girl sobbed, then opened her mouth.

"I came to say that I--I'm so sorry for killing your sister...and could you ever forgive me? For I can't forgive myself!"

Memories flooded back. The Witch saw herself, younger, but quite broken. She was pleading before a woman...Sarima. That was her name. Fiyero's wife.

She had been asking for forgiveness, and been denied it each time.

The Witch gazed into the girl's eyes, and saw what she had done to her.

She had destroyed her friends, threatened to kill her dog when she was done, and now she was waving flames in her face, going to kill her too.

Whether it was of her own free will or purely by accident, when she shrunk away, still waving the broom, a spark caught her black dress and set it on fire. She screamed reflexively.

Already the girl was moving towards a bucket of water that had come into view, and the Witch could not stop her in time.

"I will save you," she cried, and threw the water at the Witch, wetting her from head to foot.

The Witch had time to scream but only once, a long, hoarse, drawn-out cry that chilled the girl to her bones.

Pain, searing yet cold, coursed through her skin, her bones, her nerves. What was left of her heart. She knew she would not survive this.

She lay, shuddering on the floor. The girl had dropped the bucket in shock.

The older woman beckoned the girl forward; trembling, the child moved closer, shuddering herself.

She forced her lips open, and spoke with a voice raspy and low. Again she saw her tortures reflected in the child's eyes.

_"Forgive me, Dorothy,"_ Elphaba whispered.


	8. Teardrops and Flowers

_Another musicalverse one, this time :)_

**Teardrops and Flowers**

Elphaba's gaze wanders from the Lion Cub to Fiyero, her eyes widening.

She has never really noticed how handsome he is until now, always distracted by his shallow remarks and annoyingly casual attitude.

But...he had helped her just now in saving the Cub. And she didn't hex him like everyone else in the classroom.

Surely, there must be a reason for it...

Elphaba glances at his cheek and notices a red streak that trickles down his face. He doesn't seem to notice; he is gazing at her, his eyes wide.

"Oh, look...you're bleeding! It must have scratched you!"

He snaps out of his daze, touching the blood with bemusement.

"Yeah...or maybe it scratched me," Fiyero intones, his eyes not leaving Elphaba's.

He reaches for her hand; she takes it, shaking slightly. They move closer; their lips nearly touch...

A distant clap of thunder snaps them both out of it.

"I'd better get to safety," Fiyero says dazedly.

He pauses, getting up and backing away, the cage in hand.

"I mean the Cub...the Cub to safety..."

He runs off quickly, too far ahead to hear Elphaba's call.

"Fiyero..."

Elphaba starts after him, then stops. Something is holding her back.

She glances around her at the scarlet poppies that line the thick forest; she breathes in their sickeningly sweet scent.

Her vision blurs, and Elphaba finds herself overcome with a strange sense of longing. She must see him again...

"_Fiyero_," she moans, moving closer to the flowers. She feels him there, in their midst.

----------

She can see him now; he is right in front of her.

Fiyero is smiling, handsome and wonderful. She finds she cannot stop looking at him. The flowers only add to his appearance.

Trailing her eyes down his body, Elphaba stops at his strong yet gentle hands. She gasps.

On the ring finger of his left hand is a diamond-studded wedding ring. Looking at it closely, the precious stones are blue in color.

Elphaba can scarcely breathe. If this is a wedding ring, and he is with her...then...

He smiles at her, beckoning her in.

Trembling, she leans in closer, her lips and body ready to receive his kiss.

And Fiyero suddenly shoves her to the ground, walking instead towards a blurry figure, slim and beautifully dressed.

The colors and shapes become clear, and Elphaba recognizes this person as Galinda.

"_No,_" Elphaba chokes, her eyes burning with tears.

The blonde is grinning from ear to ear, wearing a wedding gown that seems to be made of silk.

Her wedding veil trails behind her, lifted up by the wind. She holds a bouquet of scarlet flowers; the same flowers line her gown.

A silver wedding ring rests on her perfectly formed left hand.

The couple leans closer; Elphaba tries desperately to look away. She cannot.

_"Please...stop..."_

She is ignored.

Fiyero and Galinda share a deep kiss that seems to last an eternity; they seem to be floating from sheer passion.

Galinda laughs lightly and tosses the bouquet of flowers; they land in Elphaba's hands.

It's a bouquet of poppies. Glancing around, Elphaba can see that the flowers that line Galinda's dress are also poppies.

Elphaba suddenly remembers what she has been told about them...the flowers carry the sweet scent of death in their petals, lulling the victim into an eternal sleep.

Elphaba drops the bouquet, but the scarlet death flowers seem to be everywhere now.

She cannot escape them, nor can she escape Fiyero and Galinda sharing another kiss...

---------

Elphaba's eyes snap open suddenly. A drop of rain has landed on her nose. Panting, she runs under a nearby bridge for shelter.

It was a dream, she tells herself. An hallucinatory dream caused by the flowers. The rain woke her up. It's as simple as that.

But is it merely a dream?

Elphaba thinks it over, then shakes her head.

It is not just a dream. She had let herself believe that Fiyero could love her. That she could love him.

The dream was simply what she secretly knew was true. Fiyero loves Galinda, and there is no changing that.

But, still...they spoke, they touched...

They almost kissed...

Elphaba walks out from under the bridge, tilting her head upwards to catch the rain.

And she sees Fiyero and Galinda walking together, talking, under a white umbrella. They are smiling at each other, both equally charmed...

Then they are gone. They were there for but an instant. But it's enough.

With a sigh, Elphaba accepts what fate has dealt her. But that doesn't stop the tears from burning her face.

"There's a girl I know...he loves her so...I'm not that girl..."


	9. Falling to Pieces

_A bookverse one, and the whole axe thing also happened in the Baum books. Right down to the number of limbs! _

**Falling to Pieces**

From a reasonable perspective, there was no reason the Tin Woodman should have existed.

The handsome Munchkin boy had done nothing to offend the Witch, aside from wanting to marry some old woman's maid.

And what exactly could she do with two Sheep and a Cow? If it was animals, perhaps, but Animals? Living, talking creatures that may have souls? It wasn't like they'd increase her welfare, anyway...

And from what she'd heard, the old woman had many servants, men and women. So she wouldn't miss them much.

Besides, it wasn't like they could escape the Witch. No one could.

But Nessarose looks out one autumn day and sees Boq.

Boq, at Shiz, talking and laughing with the circle of friends. Boq, drunk out of his mind after an enlightening experience one night.

Boq, still inebriated, proposing to her--Nessarose, the girl they said would never find one to love.

And Boq, a few years ago, proposing to Millia.

She hadn't seen him since then...but oh, how she remembers the rejection...the pain..the hatred... And now, he is here, oblivious to the pain.

Rage burns her chest as water would her sister, and Nessarose turns her steely eyes upon the axe he holds in his hands.

If it's dismemberment the old bat wants, it's dismemberment she'll get.

"Slip," she whispers, eyes not leaving the metal tool.

"Slice. Cut the wretch into pieces. Make him feel my pain."

The axe moves as though of its own will, neatly slicing through Boq's right arm; he screams in pain and drops the axe. It glows silver. The arm lands with a thump on the ground.

The girl laughs softly to herself, relishing his cry.

"Don't stop. Sever his arms. Draw blood."

The axe seems to float towards the prone Munchkin and cuts off his left arm, this time. His scream is louder, now, and Nessarose can see a glistening, tortured mess where his arms had been.

She is not satisfied.

"Hack off his legs, now. Make sure he feels it."

A swish, a thwack, and both legs are gone. His cries are like an animal's, and for a moment she is content to watch him flail about, trying to stand and steady himself on nothing.

But her sharp eyes discern his chest heaving. Boq still breathes.

"Go through his chest," she whispers, "and slice his heart in two. May he neither love nor live again..."

The axe obeys.

And Nessarose walks over to see what she has wrought upon her victim...

And stops cold.

The broken, blood-saturated man that lays before her is not Boq. His features are similar, to be sure, but she can clearly see now that this is not who she thought he was.

"Please," she breathes, "tell me...who are you?"

His lips open, and somehow he speaks.

"Nick...Chopper..."

Nessarose turns away; if she had hands they would certainly be covering her eyes.

"What have I done," she moans. Even if it was Boq that writhed before her, he would be happy with Millia, she realizes. He only proposed because he was drunk.

And Nessarose had let it lead her along this path to Wickedness...

And now this Nick Chopper lays dying before her because of it. She spares a glance at the man; somehow, he still lives.

She will have to fix that.

Nessarose turns to the enchanted axe once more.

"His head," she whispers. "Cut off his head."

It obeys.


	10. Kiss of Deception

_A musicalverse/Baum bookverse one. Cause in the books the Good Witch of the North is an old lady. Not Glinda._

**Kiss of Deception**

"Toto...are you alright," the child asked, petting her dog worriedly. When Toto barked cheerfully, she got up and dusted herself off.

"Such a mess," the girl cried, looking around her in dismay. Her bed seemed to have split in two; the table was flipped over, and the dishes and cups lay in pieces.

A ray of sunlight shot through the cracked window and illuminated the door comfortingly.

"...Where do you suppose we are," she asked. The dog gave no reply, instead jumping into her arms.

Dorothy Gale opened the door, stepped outside, and gasped. She was in a place of beauty and color, a place of shining rainbows and smiling suns.

The sky was cornflower blue; fresh green grass rolled along hills. Tiny, pale blue houses--like toadstools, almost--dotted the landscape. There were two intersecting brick roads, one red and one oddly yellow.

"Toto...we must be over the rainbow!"

It was a far cry from the flat Kansas prairies she had lived on for so long...

And then Dorothy was seized with the desire to go back. This land felt like her dreams...but dreams seem much better when you sleep, for you know when you wake you are safe at home...

Toto wriggled out of her arms and trotted towards the house, barking. Dorothy glanced back at the house and gasped.

A pair of striped stockings stuck out from under a floorboard. Upon them were a pair of shining silver shoes, so bright they could have dazzled the sun.

The legs weren't moving.

"Oh, _no_... The house must've..." Dorothy broke off with a sob. Whoever was under the house was dead. And she was to blame.

Footsteps behind her made her jump; with a cry, Dorothy whirled around.

"Who--Oh! I-I'm sorry," Dorothy stammered.

She was looking at an old, somewhat thin woman. The woman wore lavender robes that stretched to the ground; spectacles rested on her pointed nose. An odd, squareish hat lay upon her head. Makeup was splashed on her cheeks; it wasn't excessive, but still...

"Hello," the woman said with a gentle smile.

"W-Who are you," Dorothy whispered, a bit afraid.

The old woman gave her another reassuring smile and swept her hat off; in the same motion her hand slipped into her robe and pulled out a wand.

"I...am the Good Witch of the North," she began, "and you--"

"A witch? But aren't they ugly and wicked," Dorothy interrupted.

"Well...most witches are terribly wicked, and quite hideous, too. But I am a Good Witch...and I was quite lovely in my younger years," explained the Good Witch.

"But," she added, pointing at Dorothy's house, "the woman your house crushed was wicked, indeed. She was known as the Wicked Witch of the East..."

Dorothy let out a small cry.

"How terrible...How was she wicked, if I may ask?"

The Witch of the North frowned slightly, but in a moment was all smiles again.

"Well," she said, bringing her voice down to a whisper, "She enslaved the people here for many years, and made them work for her...And once, a man tried to defy her and marry someone he loved..."

The Good Witch broke off here, a tear rolling down her cheek and smearing her makeup. She wiped it away and continued.

"And with the help of her even worse sister...the Wicked Witch of the West...she destroyed his heart so he could never love again..."

Dorothy nodded sadly.

"It seems like she deserved to get crushed..."

At this the Witch's eyes lit up.

"Oh yes, dearie...she _did_. And it's lucky she was, for her magic shoes need a new owner..."

When Dorothy seemed puzzled, the Witch went on, frowning a bit.

"The shoes have a magic charm connected with them...They're quite powerful, I'd imagine, for the Witch wore them constantly."

The Good Witch cheerfully plucked the shoes off the dead Witch, waved her wand, and handed them to Dorothy; the child shied away from the gleaming footwear.

"Oh, it's alright, dear...If any evil was inside them, it's gone. Now, put them on..."

The child paused, frowning slightly. Something seemed...odd.

"Child, I'm here to help!"

A memory flitted into Dorothy's mind, of her Aunt Em...It was when she was sick and had to go to the doctor's...

_"You be a good girl,"_ her Aunt had said, _"and do everything they tell you to...they're here to help."_

The Good Witch was certainly good, and she had no one else to turn to...

Dorothy nodded, took her shoes off, and slipped the silver shoes onto her feet; they sparkled playfully. They seemed as if they had been made for her.

"Now, then," the Good Witch continued, "I sense you have a longing for something...What is it, dear?"

"I want to go home," Dorothy said earnestly.

The Good Witch nodded, a gleam in her eye and a smile on her lips.

"I cannot send you home...But this will tell me who can."

She twirled her square hat in the air; in a moment the fabric was replaced by a small chalkboard. The Witch pressed her spectacles close to her eyes and read from it.

"I see...Child, you're in luck. There is a man who can get you home!"

"Really? Who," Dorothy said eagerly.

"The Wizard of Oz...He lives in the Emerald City, and the quickest way there is to follow the yellow brick road," the Witch said triumphantly, pointing at said road.

Dorothy picked up her dog and started down the road; a call from behind stopped her.

"Wait, dear," the Witch of the North cried, running up towards her with surprising speed.

"The shoes will help...but you need one more thing before you go."

Without another word, the Good Witch drew near to Dorothy and kissed her on the forehead, leaving a round, shining mark.

"It's my kiss of protection...As long as you bear my mark, nothing will harm you," the Good Witch said with a smile.

Dorothy's eyes glazed over slightly; thoughts of protest flitted away. The girl nodded and spoke in a slight monotone.

"...Will the Wizard really help," she asked.

"Yes, dearie...for a price. You see, nothing comes free in this land...If you do something for him, he'll do much for you."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know...It may be trivial, it may be large...All you must remember is to do _everything_ he tells you to."

"Yes, Aunt Em," the girl cried joyfully, skipping down the road.

As she watched her leave, Madame Morrible turned away and smiled.

"Such innocence..."

By the time she got to the Wizard Dorothy thought in black and white, in simple terms of good and bad. She did as she was told, believing all she heard.

And so it was that the magical kiss faded only when the Wicked Witch of the West was good and dead.


	11. Waiting

_A musicalverse one, and rather depressing, too...Be warned._

**Waiting**

"Elphaba, will you read me a story," little Nessarose asks, her chocolate eyes shining.

The green girl sighs and shakes her head guiltily. She silently curses their father...he who makes her slave away...

"Not right now, Nessa...I still have work to do. Later, alright?"

The sparkles in the child's eyes dim somewhat, but she remains hopeful.

"Okay, Elphaba! I'll wait!"

This is the first instance of waiting that Nessarose can remember...of something she wants being denied and delayed until she has almost forgotten what she wanted in the first place.

It was trivial things at first. Waiting for a story, waiting for her birthday, waiting in line at a play...Small things.

_Harmless anticipation_, she told herself. But, as all things do, it consumed her completely.

All her life she had waited for love, without realizing it at first...Not the sisterly love from Elphaba, or the smothering, obsessive love from her father Frex.

It was true love, the kind that makes one's heart stop and breath cease. The kind found most often in fairytales, tales of princesses and princes and dragons...

It drove her mad, this feeling of longing and belonging...just waiting to be accepted, crippled or not, by her special someone...

And after 19 years she had found it at last, in the Munchkin boy from Shiz...Boq.

He had asked her to a dance. A dance. Nessarose. The wheelchair-bound girl, always ignored...

But it seemed Nessa was doomed to wait yet again, for he seemed to have forgotten her existence. Boq ran off to--who was it? Galinda. Galinda, yes... the witch.

Well...no matter. Nessarose would wait; she had always been good at that...

She waited for her dear father to pass to the realm beyond; she seized the power she'd been longing for. Now the Munchkin boy would belong to her...and she'd have her true love, after all.

And yet, somehow, she found herself waiting for it. Boq was her servant. He couldn't leave her...he was practically her _prisoner_, and yet he wouldn't confess his love!

No matter, Nessa thought. It would take time to adjust, after all...

So she continued to wait...

It has been three years since Nessarose became Governess. Her missing sister Elphaba (again, she waited, this time for her!) had returned, a strange book in tow. She cast a spell of some sort on Nessa's treasured shoes...

At last, Nessa could walk. Hope filled her heart...She'd gotten one thing she'd longed for; could love be far behind?

And in seconds her fairy-tale world crumbled to mere dust.

Boq had at last confessed his love. But each word was a red-hot knife to the tortured girl's heart.

He never loved her; he never _wanted_ to love her! It was for Ga--Glinda, all this time! And now he planned to leave her...

Nessarose had been waiting 22 years for his love, and to find that he directed none of it towards her--Anger, bitterness, _hatred_ instead!?

She snapped; desperately she cast a spell.

_'Please_,' she whispered, 'please don't say I waited all my life for nothing!'

It has been two days since then. Nessarose sits outside, gazing at the sky. Boq's whereabouts are unknown; some say the tin fool ran off and jumped in a lake to rust. Elphaba, they say, has fled.

Nessarose gives a dry smile as thick greenish clouds line the sky; the wind picks up to dangerous speeds. A farmhouse, of all things, curves gracefully towards her.

She doesn't care about Boq anymore. She no longer waits for him, or her sister, or anyone else.

She merely waits for death...

Nessa lets out a sharp laugh and runs towards the airborne house, a thin smile upon her face.

It comes down upon her...there's a jolt...

And it seems Nessarose has gotten what she's waited for.


	12. The Seven Stages of Grief

_This is actually a series of seven drabbles, each focusing on one of the characters (Elphaba's used twice) of Wicked as they react to Fiyero's death. Needless to say, it's bookverse. I could've made these seperate, but they work better together then apart. And no, I'm not depressed._

**Shock--Elphaba**

Elphaba's eyes are glassy and blank. Her green skin pales and her heart stops. Her mind refuses to process the scene before her.

_Let this be some twisted prank...please..._

But even as she thinks this she knows it is not.

The most prominent addition to the room is the blood.

There is blood everywhere, flooding the floor and soaking the walls. A message streaked in red lines the walls:

_Good Lurlinemas, Witch._

Another Lurlinemas decoration is the stench. It reeks of drying or dried blood, of half-eaten food, the musty smell of pine clubs and gunpowder.

But the most jarring and the one that threatens to snap her mind is this...broken shell...

The dark-skinned, diamond-covered body--

This corpse is not Fiyero. It cannot be, it must not be!

She gently brushes his wet cheek with her palm, places her other hand upon his chest.

He does nothing.

And Elphaba feels that this is what death is like, and must have been like for him.

Total, insensible shock.

**Denial--Nor**

"Mother," the child asks every day, "when will Father come home?"

Sarima smiles indulgently and her reply is soft, coating her building worry and wonder with sugar.

"Soon, my little Nor. My Prince Fiyero will be home soon."

Nor seems satisfied at this, and in a moment she runs off to play with her brothers.

This went on for days, which turned into weeks. Everyday Nor asked the same question, and every day the reply was the same.

"Soon, Nor. Soon..."

And then the Witch came, Elphaba came, bearing news.

As she steps forward, the green-skinned woman notes the presence of children. She can't afford to be blunt, not with innocent eyes gazing at her.

"Fiyero... will never set foot in the West again."

Nor's eyes well up with tears at her words.

"Daddy doesn't like us," she chokes, a question in her quivering lips. Sarima frowns deeply, and her brow creases with concern.

"Now, Nor... I'm sure that's not what she means. Right," she spits at their visitor, silently begging for the truth.

The verdant woman sighs. _They might as well know all of it...They are his family, after all. Perhaps they will..._

She pushes stray thoughts aside and speaks.

"It's not that he doesn't like you. It's that he's dead."

Dead silence. Then a shout.

"You liar! My husband will be here, I know it! Are you his secret lover, come to tear us apart with lies?"

Sarima turns to her daughter, pleading.

"Nor...don't believe her! She has no proof, she's obviously ly--"

The green-skinned woman wipes burning tears from her cheek and invites them to gaze at her. Nor gasps.

A sticky, red substance covers the black dress...Nor walks over to it and yelps.

It smells of Father, it smells of his love and tenderness...of the blue diamonds that decorated his chest... She wants to bury herself in it, to keep his scent with her...

For if this woman is here without him, he must be gone.

Nor knows now. But she doesn't accept it.

"Mother," she says, turning towards her, "When will Father be home?"

**Bargaining--The Wizard**

"If you give me the book," the Wizard says with a smile, "I will give you his child."

_His child. Lovely. Why not him_, she wants to shout. But then she remembers Nor, the remnants of her dress dirty and twisted like an underage Cinderella.

Yes, Elphaba knows the faerie tales...and she knows that her own handsome prince is gone forever. But...no, she cannot afford to hope now...

But she does.

"Oh Great and Powerful Oz," she intones, in a manner not quite sarcastic, "I have a proposition."

At this the man seems interested, gleeful even. He thought she was stronger than this; at least that's what he heard.

_Ah. It must be the princess Nor_, he thinks. _The last heir to the Tiggular name...and the last connection to her Fiyero._

"What is it, dear Witch," he asks mock respectfully.

"I will give you pages of this book...in exchange for Fiyero's whereabouts."

The Wizard waits until the runic sheets are in his grasp before he speaks.

"My dear Elphaba, both you and I know very well where your prince is. He's in the realm beyond...and let me tell you something," he states, moving towards her slowly.

"_Nothing _you say or do is going to get him back...so forget it. I'd suggest you concentrate your efforts on his daughter, hm? After all...this is the only chance you have to rescue her from the evil Wizard and his army," he laughs, recalling faerie tales of his own childhood.

Elphaba reels back as if physically slapped. Deep down...she knows he's right.

"Very well...these pages for Nor, then," she begs.

He uses her weakness.

"Not a chance. The book and your sister's shoes, nothing else. Now...this meeting is over. I'm a busy man, after all..."

"And remember, dear Witch...the book and shoes for your love's daughter."

He's willing to bet she'd bargain it all away for a chance at her love...or at the very least his daughter.

**Guilt--Malky**

The cat prowls the city streets, hunger gnawing at his stomach. He manages to find the remians of a fish--or Fish--and scarfs it down.

The fish stirs up memories; Malky gazes at the Emerald Palace sadly.

If he could, he'd confess everything.

_It's my fault,_ he thinks. _I killed Fiyero_.

It hadn't been hard for the Gale Force to find him...all-white cats were a rarity in Oz, and even more so intelligent ones.

And the army knew what cats loved most: themselves, praise, and food.

They'd given Malky fish, the most delicious kind, and made him promise to take some to Fiyero as a present.

Though he was somewhere between an Animal and animal, Malky certainly knew what a promise was. They were kept, no questions asked.

Malky sped home, remains of his meal in his mouth, imagining the look on Fiyero's face when he returned with his gift--any cat could catch birds, but fish!?

He jumped in through the window and mewed, determined to get his attention.

"Malky," the Winkie prince chuckled, "what's--"

He never got to finish; strong hands burst through the door and wrapped themselves around his neck. Then, a few seconds later, the first blow and the first spray of blood.

Malky stepped back in shock, letting his treasured fish drop to the floor. He didn't wait to see what would happen next; he was out the window before anyone could blink.

He sat by the door for hours, ears perked back to block the screams. Finally the door opened, and he began to hope. Perhaps Fiyero had escaped.

Then a figure stepped out, and guilt clutched at his heart.

A member of the Gale Force, followed by the entire squad, strutted out. The captain took notice of him and reached down to pet his head.

"Good kitty," he said with a smile.

Malky hissed and slipped away, his body flooding with remorse.

_There's only one way I can atone_, he thought, _and that's to die in his stead_.

But pride and hunger tore at him until at last the cat ate and drank...

And he feels guilty for living.

**Anger--Sarima**

She is at first shocked, then enraged at the visitor. How dare she say that her husband's dead! She's probably his lover, trying to keep them awa--

Oh. Blood. Nor's crying...asking her when her father's coming home...in total denial...

"Nor," Sarima stammers, "please..."

The child's sobs grow louder, and she cries herself. She turns back to the green-skinned girl, rage pumping through her veins.

"You! How dare you make her cry! He's not dead, I know it! He would never..."

_She would never have come without him._

Sarima breathes in sharply and her words are laced with malice.

"Get out, Witch. Get out of our lives."

Shaking, pointing at their guest, she continues.

"You killed him, didn't you? You took him from us and came to gloat! Is that it?"

The Witch shakes her head 'no' and steps back, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"No," she breathes. "Please, I need shelter...You're his family, you're all I have left..."

"So you are his lover, then," Sarima asks; it is more a statement of triumph than a question.

"...Yes."

Sarima nods; her mind is made up to cast this girl out of her life for good...

Nor stops her.

"Mother...Let her stay. She's family now."

The woman blinks, mind racing, and slowly nods.

"...Alright, Nor...This Witch will stay."

Sarima's anger wraps around her heart, forming a shell of fire and ice. Nothing except Fiyero can penetrate it...and, well...

"But I will never forgive her for killing him. Never."

_Remember Fiyero...she killed him...left the children alone...never forgive, never forget...she __**killed **__him..._

This is what Sarima's mind and heart scream every day...even when she believes it isn't true.

**Depression--Elphaba**

She gazes at her crystal ball almost drunkenly, staring blankly into the swirling mists.

"Show me Fiyero," the Witch whispers.

She waits...the mists part...

Nothing. The ball flickers, then fades like a candle. She rubs it again, but it does not light up with a verdant hue.

"Elphaba," Liir offers, "maybe you should forget it and--"

"Shut up, you useless brat," she screeches, throwing a chair at him.

The Witch sobs, finally, sweeping up the stairs to her tower room and gazing out at the balcony. Memories swirl around her like the mist in the ball.

_Blood...blood...the smell of death...red mixed with blue diamonds..._

_"When will Father be home?"_

_"Are you his secret lover, come to tear us apart?"_

_"Nothing you say or do is going to get him back..."_

_"Elphaba, maybe you should forget it..."_

The Witch gazes at the ground below dreamily. She imagines hurling herself off the parapet, landing with a crunch...reuniting with Fiyero at last.

She steps onto the edge of the tower, a smile on her face.

_I have nothing to lose,_ she thinks.

And she stumbles and falls backwards, landing on cold stone. Soft fingers grab her arm, pulling her up.

"Elphaba," Liir asks, "are you alright? You seem really upset..."

He blinks, and gazes at her worn face. He touches the burning tears tenderly.

"I'm sorry...I miss him too."

For a moment she wonders how he could have known Fiyero; he wasn't alive when he died.

Perhaps he shares her memories...but how could he do that, unless--

Unless...he was...

No. It can't be. Not another soul for her to destroy through weakness and love.

Her face turns angry again.

"I'm quite alright, thank you...Now get out of my sight," the Witch screams.

Liir nods and turns away. He's not fooled.

_The Witch may be annoyed with me, but she's not alright... She's depressed. And she needs help!_

These thoughts are confirmed when Elphaba's voice stops him. He turns and sees she is smiling.

"By the way, dear...would you fetch me some water?"

**Acceptance--Liir**

Liir had never really known Fiyero, so it was easy to accept his death.

There were fleeting memories of diamonds, and dark skin...but that wasn't enough to really connect.

All he knew was what the Witch had told him...his kind ways...his love...he wife and children...

She often spoke of Nor, his daughter...how the Wizard had her imprisoned. Liir wasn't quite sure what it was about, knowing little of politics, but something told him that he needed to find her.

He tried, once, but all it got him was a scolding from Nanny about wandering off at night and a beating from the Witch. She said that she couldn't lose him as well...

Every time Elphaba mentioned Fiyero he felt something stir within him. He wasn't sure what it was at first. After a moment it went away, and soon he grew to ignore it.

After time, as Elphaba became more and more desperate, Liir was there, reassuring her that everything was going to be fine. Besides, he was dead. Why sob over what you can't change?

It wasn't like he hadn't felt the pain of death; he had. He'd just learned to accept it and move on.

But still, there was that foolish wish...impossible...though one he dreamt of often.

"And what would you want, Liir, if the Wizard could give you anything?"

"A father..."


	13. Giving Thanks

_A musicalverse one, in honor of Thanksgiving and my friend Christian, who died January 25th, 2007._

**Giving Thanks**

Glinda hates today. It's the day of Ozma's arrival, the time for thankfulness that she ruled for so many years.

The time to spend with family and friends, and to thank them for all they've done.

Glinda has no one to spend it with. Her old mother went crazy shortly after she was declared Good...muttering something about shadows and lies. For she never truly believed her daughter would amount to anything.

The blonde sighs deeply.

"Mother was more right than she could have ever known. I'm really not Good at all..."

Her mind shies away from the memories brought about, and Glinda's thoughts turn to her father.

He died an early death...some sickness brought on by the weather. All of Oz mourned his passing and sought to comfort the Good Witch.

But Glinda saw the joy in the lines of their faces. They were reassured by the thought that Good Witches cried and mourned. It made her seem more human.

Her mind ticks off the list of other family members. She has no sisters or brothers, no nieces or nephews, no cousins to spend this day with.

And then, as much as she tries to stop it, she remembers that she has no friends either.

Perhaps once...but not now.

Now Elphaba is gone. Melted out of existence, never to be seen again. Her screams still echo in the darkness.

Glinda turns to her vanity mirror--such an appropriate name, they say. She gazes at her tear-lined face, her cornflower eyes.

And gasps at what she sees behind her.

A figure with green skin...a school girl's dress...books under one arm. The reflection changes to show a younger Galinda, in her pink party dress. They are laughing together, talking about whatever's on their minds.

The image changes. Elphaba and Glinda are off to see the Wizard; her friend wears her pointed hat and a simple black dress. The blonde has chosen a yellow dress. They are together, like always, dazzled by the sights and sounds.

Again, the passage of time. They are locked in the Wizard's tower; Elphaba now sports a cape and broom. She asks Glinda whether she wishes to come...

Slowly, the Glinda in the mirror shakes her head 'no'.

Elphaba smiles and nods.

'It's alright,' she says, 'cause we'll be together in friendship. Nothing will bring us down.'

And the mirror shifts one last time, brings forth the image Glinda has both feared and longed to see.

The image of Elphaba, seconds before she melted.

The image in the mirror embraces a sobbing Glinda and slowly backs away. It is time.

But then the scene changes; instead of embracing death she slows and turns back. She smiles at her friend.

"Never forget that I'll always be your friend...Thank you, Glinda, for everything."

The mirror shimmers and is back to normal. Glinda sees just herself, like before.

But now she is smiling, and slowly nods.

"Elphaba...thank you for being my friend...Thank you for helping me now."

"You're welcome, Glinda," Elphaba whispers.


	14. Assistance as Needed

_Hello, all! No, I haven't dropped off the face of the planet In fact, I just got back from Wicked! And I felt inspired so I wrote this drabble. It's musicalverse. :)_

**Assistance as Needed**

Madame Morrible is nothing if not clever. An impressionable, innocent girl sharing her room is not something to be taken lightly.

She'll mold Nessarose carefully, one step at a time.

"Nessarose, dear," she asks, "would you come here for a moment?"

The wheelchair-bound girl complies, wheeling herself towards the headmistress.

"Yes, Madame," she asks in a refined tone. Father had always taught her to speak lightly.

"Have you, by any chance…heard of the Animal conspiracies?"

"…Not that I'm aware of."

Morrible clucks. "Not to worry! I happen to know quite a bit, my dear. You see, some Animals are unhappy with the way Oz is being run. They wish to change things."

Nessarose processes this information, nodding. "And how is that bad? I'm sure if they conducted themselves honorably, they would…"

"But that's the point, dear child. They are nothing but honorable. The Animals lie and deceive those around them, drawing you in and never letting go."

"T-that's horrible!"

Morrible smiles and nods. "Yes. It is. And one day…we will all have the power to change it."

She takes her leave. Nessarose is alone, thinking over what has been said.

_Have…the power…for change…How wonderful!_

In a day, Morrible returns. Again, she beckons her near.

"You remember what we discussed yesterday, dear? About the Animals?"

"Yes, Madame. I do. You said we could have the power to change it…"

"Well, it's not just the Animals that are the problem. It's Ozians as well. People unhappy with their way of life, with what the Wizard has offered them."

"That doesn't seem fair. The Wizard gave everyone a living! That in itself is worth gratitution!"

Morrible grins. "Not everyone thinks the same way we do, dearie. Some even conspire with the Animals, plotting to overthrow our wonderful Wizard."

"…I see," Nessarose states, biting her lip in thought.

_It seems such rebels are connected. Perhaps we could find them all at once and put an end to it…_

"Is there a way to stop them?"

But Morrible waves her off. Too much in one day could ruin the whole plan.

"Another day, dear. I'll tell you another day…"

Nessarose nods and waits for tomorrow to come, mulling over what has been said.

By morning she is there already, greeting Morrible pleasantly.

"Madame. Would you tell me a way to stop these conspirators," she says. A trace of ice has formed on her tone.

Morrible thinks. "I suppose the first thing to do would be to gain power. Power is our lifeblood. If you don't have ties to the government, the citizens won't notice you. Without power you have nothing, you _are_ nothing."

"I understand. If you're just a student like me, teachers pay you no mind. But your can order the other teachers around as headmistress."

"Right. The second thing would be to inform the people. If you have a position of power, they will listen to your every word…" Morrible paused here, gazing wistfully at the ceiling.

"That makes sense. And then," Nessarose said excitedly, "they'd do what you said! Right?"

"…Only if you use the proper leverage," Morrible said, raising a finger in warning.

"…Leverage? I'm afraid I don't understand…"

"The most important thing is to make the public fear you, for fear controls all. Once they're sufficiently afraid…no one will dare question your ways. Have a tongue of fire and a heart of ice, Nessarose. They will get you far…"

"…Thank you, Madame," Nessarose states coolly. "I will be off to my room, now…"

She wheels away slowly.

_Power...It will be mine, someday. I must make the most of it. After all...Fathers don't live forever..._

_The seeds have been sown_, Morrible thinks. _It's only a matter of watching them grow._


	15. Once Upon a Time

_This one's musicalverse. I wrote it on a whim, and cause I'd read one too many fairy tales to my young cousins. :)_

**Once Upon a Time**

Little Nessarose smiles up at her sister, eyes shining and eager.

"Elphaba," she says, wheeling her way over to her, "tell me a story."

The verdant girl smiles, putting away her book. There's always time for stories…

"Alright. What kind do you want to hear?"

Nessa thinks for a minute, biting her lip in thought. In an instant, for children are spontaneous that way, she perks up and speaks.

"A fairy story! One with a princess and prince! And _magic_, Elphaba, especially one with magic!"

Elphaba laughs. "That's pretty vague, Nessa. Any other things you want me to add? This is _your_ story, after all. Make it special, just for you…"

"Give it a ball, Elphaba," she says seriously, eyes wide as if seeing such a scene before her. "Give it dancing and dresses and _love_. Especially love."

Elphaba nods, turning the details in her mind, weaving them into a story worthy of her sister. In a minute, she nods, motioning that she's ready. Nessarose leans forward in her chair, paying rapt attention.

Elphaba clears her throat and begins.

"Once upon a time, in a moderately-sized kingdom, there was a girl named Rose who lived her life in a wheelchair."

Nessarose smiles at this; this is a heroine she can relate to.

"She had been crippled from birth, through no fault of her own. Somewhere, as she was born, her legs had gotten tangled. Her mother loved her deeply, though, which made it hurt even more when she passed away soon after her birth."

Nessa sniffles. "I don't like this story," she says suddenly, frowning. _It's too personal_, she thinks.

Elphaba nods, ruffling her hair. "The important thing is that she was loved, Nessa. Even if it was for a short time, it was _there_."

"Oh…okay, Elphaba. I believe you," the younger girl says, wiping at her eyes. Having it explained like that makes it make more sense. She decides to give this tale a chance.

"Her father soon remarried to another woman who had two daughters. Their names were Pfannee and Shenshen. While they acted nice to Rose around her father, when they were alone with her they teased her relentlessly, picking on her for being unable to walk."

Nessarose nods, imagining the cruel girls tormenting her, wondering what she would do in a situation like that.

"Her stepmother even made her do hard chores, disguising cruelty under the pretense of having her contribute to the workload as well."

"How horrible," Nessa murmurs.

"For the most part, though, Rose was happy. She knew she was safe with her father around. But everything changed when suddenly, their father died as well," Elphaba says solemnly.

"Oh, _no_," Nessarose moans, picturing the girl's tear streaked face; it was a mirror of her own.

"Her mother had been buried at the base of an ancient tree. When Rose's father died, he was buried at his wife's side…"

Nessa nods, keeping this in mind. Elphaba wouldn't mention such a thing if it weren't going to be important later.

"Afterwards, the women of the house were even crueler to Rose. Since there was no one now to protect her, they could be as lazy and belittling as they wanted. They made her do all the chores she was capable of, no matter how long it took her to do them…But in spite of this, Rose remained happy."

"Why," Nessa asks, feeling a rush of admiration for the heroine.

"Well…Hmmm," Elphaba thinks, biting her lip.

Nessa waits for her sister's response, knowing that no matter what it is, it will all fit nicely.

"Well," the green girl finally says, "I guess she felt that with all these bad things happening to her, things could only get better. And she'd always been an optimist. But most of all, she felt one day true love would be hers."

"Just like me," Nessa squeals, relating even more to this fantasy girl.

"And as it so happened," Elphaba continues, "the prince of the kingdom was looking for a girl to marry. The Queen had passed away recently, and the King was naturally concerned about the future of the monarchy. So the Prince decided to hold a royal ball, with every eligible maiden invited to attend."

"What's elephant…elegy…that word mean," Nessarose pipes up.

"It means anyone with the right qualities," Elphaba says with a smile. "Girls who were kind and clever, girls who were beautiful, and even plain girls, as long as they had good hearts."

"Thanks," Nessa blushes. "What happened next?"

"Well, as you can imagine, the women of the house were quite excited. Pfannee and Shenshen spent hours in front of the mirror, preening themselves to look their very best. But no matter how much makeup they put on, their false smiles shone through."

"Of course. They're mean."

Elphaba grins. "Of course. Rose's stepmother, meanwhile, was busy preparing transportation. They needed a way to reach the palace, after all."

"And Rose? What was she doing," Nessarose asks, unable to bear the suspense.

"She was busy trying to find a dress to wear and makeup to put on. But for some reason, there was nothing to be found. It was as if someone had hidden all the pretty dresses and cosmetics."

"Pfannee and Shenshen had some," Nessa puts in.

"Yes, but it was in use. Rose was far too nice to take the makeup away from her stepsisters. A dress was more important anyhow."

"You're right," Nessa concedes. "Did she manage to find one?"

"Just barely. It was a rather simple yet elegant black dress, and it took her quite some time to put it on. At the appointed time, Rose was ready to join her family and go to the ball. She wheeled herself outside, full of excitement, and then stopped dead. Tears welled up in her eyes."

Nessa makes a low sound of concern. "Why?"

"For her stepmother had ordered a carriage to take them to the ball. Rose was in a wheelchair and couldn't get in. And there was no room for her to be carried in, chair and all."

Nessarose's eyes water. "How cruel could she be!? This had better have a happy ending, Elphaba. I deserve one!"

Seemingly ignoring her, Elphaba continues.

"She sat there, watching in horror, as they smiled, waved, and left. Wheeling herself out to her mother's grave, Rose felt truly alone and afraid for the first time, and started sobbing. Her tears, wet with unspoken hopes and dreams, watered the tree."

"And then?" Nessa breathes, as if sensing the arrival of something good.

"She felt warm, gentle hands wrapping themselves around her, lifting her face and drying her tears. She heard the soft whispery voice of her mother, telling her to never give up, for on this night, if she kept hoping, she'd find the one she was destined to be with. Her mother gently asked her if she was ready, and Rose answered… "

Nessarose is silent, hanging on every word.

"Yes."

"In the next instant," Elphaba continues, "Rose found herself clad in a shimmering pink ballgown. Her slippers were a shining silver—"

"Make them red," Nessarose interrupts, "it's a more magical color."

A smile.

"Of course. Her slippers were a brilliant ruby red; her wheelchair, formerly dusty and worn, was now gleaming and wonderful, covered in red velvet with gold trim. Eyes shining in happiness, Rose—"

"Make her walk," Nessa whispers quietly.

Elphaba freezes.

"What?"

"Make her walk. Princesses _walk_, Elphaba."

Elphaba stumbles over her thoughts, taken aback. She knows that her sister sees herself in this girl, and would want nothing more than to stand, to walk, to dance, even for a night. But she doesn't want to wound her sister; to mock her by spinning a tale of what she knows would never happen…In the end, she decides, it will be up to Nessarose.

"Would you be happy," she asks in a low voice.

"Of course. Now make me walk," Nessarose states, the line blurring the girls shattered.

Elphaba gives a slow nod of consent.

"And as she marveled at her transformed chair, she felt her legs tingle. This was new to her; while she'd felt pain there before, and sometimes an ache, she'd never felt them so _alive_. And, involuntarily, they moved."

Nessa inhales sharply in mixed joy and envy. "Will she walk, now?"

"Slowly, surely, Rose lifted herself up from her chair and stood on her own two feet. Then she sat back down and wheeled herself towards the Palace, as it was faster than walking. Besides, she felt new energy course through her, and she couldn't have been tired if she wanted to. At last, Rose arrived at the Palace, stored her chair near the steps, and walked up proudly and hopefully. And in her head, a word resonated through her brain. '_Midnight'_."

"…Midnight," Nessa repeats, puzzling over this mysterious fragment.

"Rose looked at all the women of the ball. Some were flirting with the Prince; other, older women were quietly dancing with their husbands. She noticed Pfannee and Shenshen fighting over who would be the first to approach his Highness, while her stepmother watched with approval."

Nessa suppresses a laugh at this; apparently the woman thought competition was the road to success. _They aren't worthy, anyway_, she thinks.

"And she turned, finally, to look at the Prince..."

"Out of the corner of his eye, the Prince glimpsed a woman he'd never seen before. A proud, yet somehow shy girl in a glinting pink gown that sparkled when she moved, and wearing shoes of pure crimson. She seemed more real than the girls he'd observed, more…worn. But somehow that made her more attractive. And she was looking right at him."

Elphaba smiles as she continues. "The Prince, as if compelled, suddenly turned away from the teasing girls, away from the crowd, and walked right past Pfannee and Shenshen to take Rose's hand. Time seemed to stand still."

Nessarose interrupts. "Was he enchanted to fall in love? Rose is magically charmed now, after all."

Elphaba gives her a wry grin. "Haven't you heard of love at first sight?"

"…Yes. But only in…Oh."

"That's right. Only in fairy tales…But, you know, it does happen in real life. Otherwise these fairy stories would have nothing to be based on. It's just… harder to come by."

Nessarose nods. "Then what happened? With Rose, and the Prince?"

"Oh, they danced for hours. It was as if the ballroom, the guests, had vanished, and they were in a world all their own. In all the time she'd been alive, save all-too-brief moments with her parents, Rose had never known such happiness. The Prince, too, seemed enraptured. He opened his mouth to speak."

"'Please,' he began, 'tell me your—"

Nessarose breaks the silence. "Why did he stop?"

"Rose had detached herself from him and run as if lions were at her heels. For the chime of a clock had broken the metaphorical spell. As the bells continued to toll, Rose felt her legs stiffen, her gown lose its shimmer; he shoes, however, remained sparkling. In her head, the word 'Midnight' screamed at her, telling her to _run_, get _away_, before they see…before _he_ sees…"

Nessa gulps. "So…the magic ends at…"

A curt nod, and Elphaba continues, enraptured in her own story by now.

"As she stumbled back to her chair, Rose felt one of the shoes fall away, glimmering on the step. But there was no time, no _way_ to get it; she had to flee! Hopping on a foot, she collapsed into her chair and wheeled away with an adrenaline rush. Though she felt scared and nervous, in the end she didn't mind. She'd had the best time of her life, and she felt it would all turn out alright in the end."

"At the Palace, the Prince puzzled over the girl who'd stolen his heart and left so suddenly. Was it possible she didn't love him? _No, that couldn't be. If she didn't love me_, he thought, picking up the slipper, _she wouldn't have given me a clue to find her_."

Nessa smiles. "I get it! He'd see which girl owned the other slipper! Shoes come in pairs!"

Elphaba laughs lightly. "No. He'd see which girl fit the slipper. If he looked for its owner, rather than the one wearing it, he might end up with someone hideous. There's no mistaking foot size."

"And the next day a proclamation was issued: The King's emissary would comb the kingdom, searching every household until he found the girl that fit the slipper. As you can imagine, Pfannee and Shenshen were quite excited. They knew they hadn't worn anything like that, but how would the emissary know? And there was no mistaking foot size."

"But what if they had the same size," Nessa objects; Elphaba silently shushes her.

"But when the emissary arrived at their door and presented the shoe, they couldn't make it fit. It was as if the slipper itself was rejecting them; no matter how they contorted and twisted their feet it refused to submit. In desperation, the stepmother offered her aged foot and found herself unable to squeeze even three toes into it."

Nessa giggles at the idea of an old woman pretending to be the prince's love. "What about Rose?"

"Rose had kept mostly to herself as this was going on, watching as they tried and failed. Finally, as the emissary began to put the slipper away, she called out. Shyly, she wheeled forward, asking him politely to remove her shoe so she could see if she was the girl."

"Despite the stepsisters' protests of 'she can't even _walk_; how could she be the one', the stepmother's howls of disbelief, as if she sensed something they couldn't, and his own misgivings, the emissary nodded, gently removing Rose's worn shoe to place the slipper on her foot."

Nessarose smiles. "And it fit?"

"And it fit perfectly. The shoes had been made for Rose, you see, letting no other wear them. Even if they shared the same size, it would expand, or shrink, to ensure that one unworthy of his love wouldn't be mistaken. Those girls would find other loves, or find love in themselves."

Elphaba grins, thinking back to her sister's outburst.

"But the final thing that cemented her identity as the prince's love was when Rose, eyes shining, produced the other slipper."

"Could she walk, now that she had them both," Nessa pipes up.

Elphaba ignores the question. "That very day, a royal wedding was announced. All the people, from peasants to lords and ladies, gathered to watch as the Prince gently wheeled his bride down the aisle."

"And as the vows were said, the rings placed upon their fingers, as the minister pronounced them husband and wife, Rose felt her legs move. She gasped in surprise and delight, and before the congregation's astonished eyes, she stood up to kiss her prince."

Nessa sighs romantically. "So it's a happy ending," she said in relief.

Elphaba nods. "Yes. She then lived with the prince in the palace for the rest of her days, wearing the shoes to make her walk, leap, and dance. She lived happily, indeed…"

Elphaba pauses, then. It seems…too simple, too happy. Usually, to other children, she tells more realistic tales of romance and death. Nessarose demands a happy ending, however, and a happy ending she'll get.

But…still…

Before she can stop herself, the words tumble out, weaving around the story.

"But the slippers sometimes ached, and sometimes pinched at her feet, so every so often Rose took them off. She sat back in her chair and wheeled around, doing chores even though she had maids to do such tasks. And on these occasions she wheeled to her house, to her mother's grave, pricking her finger and watering the tree with tears and blood…"

Elphaba pauses, knowing such behavior deserves an explanation.

"She did it to—"

"I know why," Nessa interrupts.

"…Why," the green girl breathes.

"To never forget herself. Happy endings aren't just granted."


	16. The Jitterbug

_Why did I write this? I don't know. just on a whim, I guess. It's Wizard of Oz movieverse, and deals with a cut song._

**The Jitterbug**

When all else failed, the Witch turned to faerie tales.

She'd seen the group of travelers walking boldly through her woods. She'd seen their weapons, seen the determined look in their eyes, and knew they were coming to kill her.

She'd seen the forest itself come alive to protect her, the trees grasping and the animals chittering as if trying to scare them off. And she'd seen the group rally itself and push forward.

If nothing was done, they'd soon be at the castle gates.

She could use the monkeys, of course. But she'd seen how resourceful the group was. Fresh and alert like they were, they might drive them off, and she'd be left with nothing but magic to protect her.

She wasn't sure how well magic would work on people already enchanted, anyway. No, she would need something better. Something to tire them.

Her eyes fell on the girl's ruby red shoes. Her sister's shoes, she reminded herself. So red, like blood...

She stops suddenly; an idea has struck her. Wasn't there a faerie story about a girl with red shoes? One she'd liked even as a child?

Yes, she remembers now. The girl wanted to dance, and put the pretty red shoes on. They'd made her dance, alright. But she couldn't stop dancing; they'd tore into her feet and left them bleeding.

The shoes wasted her away, then walked off to find a new owner. Someone who would dance.

The Witch had seen Dorothy dance too, she recalled. Red shoes skipping on yellow brick. Such innocence; the child was clearly having fun.

Well...she would give her her fun before she died.

This would take more than just a spell. But the Witch knew what to find.

There was, in her forest, a particular insect. Mosquito-like and pink, it bit travelers and made them afraid, so afraid that they stumbled through the brush in a panic, and were soon lost to the woods. The Jitterbug, it was called, for it gave people the jitters.

She would enjoy that, to be sure, but she did need those shoes. To have them run would not work.

She whistled once, strange and high, and in seconds the room was full of the insects. She gestured at the travelers, then at the bugs, and they listened.

"You will go down and bite them all. But before you do, I will enchant you. Don't be afraid when they don't run. They won't hurt you. They will dance...until they drop. Do you understand?"

The cloud of insects seemed to nod.

"Good."

The Witch drew back her hands, crackling with energy, and released it. The magic surrounded the bugs, altered their body chemistry. They caused a different sort of adrenaline now, and buzzed about excitedly.

"Now go," the Witch ordered, and they obeyed.

She turned to the crystal ball to watch; Dorothy and her companions were still marching along.

Suddenly, the Lion stopped, slapping and pawing at his nose. Dorothy turned to him, but soon cried out, scratching her arm. The Witch didn't know how they managed to bite the Scarecrow and Tin Man, but they did. Even Toto the dog soon whimpered, scratching himself.

"Now," she cackled, "the fun begins."

The group tossed their weapons aside and began to dance.

It was a jive-y sort of dance, not like any in Oz, and the Witch wondered where she'd got it from. The trees swayed with them, enhancing the playful mood. Even the Jitterbugs had stayed to watch.

Dorothy shrieked in laughter, holding her dog safe even as she danced. "This is fun," she told her friends, seemingly lost in euphoria. The Scarecrow and Tin Man agreed, but the Lion, it seemed, was already tiring. "Cats...don't...dance," he moaned, trying to keep up.

At that Dorothy frowned. "Well, why not stop and rest?"

The Lion tried, but his feet kept moving, kept time. "I c-can't," he stuttered, suddenly feeling afraid. Before he could continue, he collapsed.

The Tin Man was also tiring out, now, complaining of aching joints. In due order, he fell, clanking harshly against the grass.

Dorothy frowned more deeply. Somehow, the dancing wasn't fun anymore...But she couldn't stop...

The Scarecrow danced so hard he'd started to shake his straw out. After several minutes, he gave out, flopping onto the ground.

Dorothy was left alone to dance until she dropped. But at that moment, the spell weakened. She was dancing, still, but she was running as well, crying in fear. Toto had grown quiet, whimpering in her arms.

The Witch frowned; this wasn't what she'd planned. She'd hoped it would last long enough to kill her.

Oh, well. She supposed the monkeys would work now, at least.

"Bring me the girl and her dog. Do what you like with the others, but I want her alive and unharmed."

She paused.

"That includes the shoes."


End file.
